


This Complicate Things

by Adrian_Nox



Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: ALL THE SPOILERS, Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Here goes, Humor, Language, Possibly Confusing, Random Updates, Tragedy, Violence, all the characters can show up, i did this cause the whim struck me, merlin season 5 never happened because it sucked, sometimes characters die, this starts of simple and then gets more complex, unfinished but i will finish it eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrian_Nox/pseuds/Adrian_Nox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Semi-AU Reincarnation Drabble Series — Inseparable. Two sides of the same coin. Destiny. It was inevitable that history would one day write them back into its course as brothers. Arthur and Merlin have been reincarnated numerous times throughout history, this time as Dean and Sam Winchester. However, fate has taken a darker turn and as their previous lives intersect and reflect into their present ones, the brothers must fight, not for, but against their destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories Fall Slow

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a revisited idea in my other one-shot series, "Messes of Mice and Men," but I've decided to give it its own space in a separate fic. There will be a variety of styles, chronological order, and consist of a whole range of genres, from angst to humor. The nature of this fic is automatically AU, but I will be attempting to keep it mostly canon-compliant as far as events are concerned.
> 
> I should also add that I have yet to see Season 5 of Merlin, but from what I can tell it rather sucked so I'm going to pretend it doesn't exist and never happened. Also, much of this series is going to focus on Season 1-5 of Supernatural and not so much the later seasons. 
> 
> Since I originally started this when I was first beginning fanfic writing, it starts off very very simplistic. The further you go in the series, the more long/better written the chapters get. Chapter 7 gives a good feel for what I'm trying to do with this series I think. I do plan to keep adding to this, but as with all my writing, it's dependent on my mood and when the urge strikes me. Enjoy.

Dean remembered first and, for once, it was Sam looking incredulously at his brother, wondering if he had lost his mind.

"You think you're who from where during what time period?"

"Oh c'mon. Don't tell me your idiot ass can't remember."

"Dean, man, I mean, we've got hit upside the head a couple of times and said some pretty wacky stuff...but  _Camelot_?"

"I'm serious, Sammy. I'm Arthur and you're Merlin."

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Gimme sec. Here. You'll remember this."

"Dean, what-"

"Don't be an idiot,  _Mer_ lin."

"You're kidding, right?"


	2. And Sometimes They Fall Hard

When Dean finally arrived back at the motel (Connor's Diner had the best burgers  _ever_ ), the door was wide open and papers on their current case were scattered haphazardly about the floor.

He panicked.

"Sam? Sam!"

Desperately scoping the whole room for sasquatch-little-brother, he was about to hit full-on freak-out mode when a shaking, curled-up mass in the corner caught the edge of his eye.

_How the hell did he manage to cram himself into that corner?_

Dean circled around the bed and immediately knelt beside him. God, the kid was  _trembling._

 _"_ Sam," he said softly, " _Sam."_

Sam finally lifted his head, wide green eyes filled with a lost expression and burgeoning tears.

"Arthur - Dean...the Battle of Camlann. Mordred...you died - I couldn't save…" The trembling increased with alarming intensity.

" _Sam."_ Dean put every ounce possible of emphasis into the word. When Sam failed to respond, Dean clasped his face between both hands. "I'm here.  _Alive_. Not dead, not goin' anywhere."

Sam stared at him for a moment, face expressionless, but the shaking steadily slowed.

"Figures you would start a chick flick when you remembered. You always were a girl, Samantha."

"Clotpole," Sam muttered.

"Idiot."

"Prat."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

 


	3. Never Trust the Blond Ones

"So, Dean. I've been thinking."

"Watch out. That's dangerous."

"Ha ha. You're hilarious. Anyways, I was thinking—if we've been reincarnated, then everybody else was probably too."

"Yeah. So?"

"So? Dean, we probably know them."

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, who do you thinks who?"

"No clue. Hey, toss me the remote will you?"

"Who do you think Morgause is?"

"No idea."

Sam glared at him.

"Look, Sam. I got no clue and we'll probably find out eventually anyways so what's the point of stressing over it?"

"Because knowing our luck, Morgause gonna be a demon or something."

Before Dean could reply, someone hammered furiously against the door. Sam opened it.

"You and Arthur are  _dead meat._ "

"Meg?"


	4. Dear God, Not the Key Lime

"So."

Sam looked at him, perplexed. "So?"

"So I know who Gwain was reincarnated as."

Sam paused, towel poised over the dish in his hand. "Ok. Impress me."

"Castiel."

_CRASH!_

Dean leaned against the door as Sam scrambled on the ground picking up pieces of the shattered plate. "Yeah, that was about my response too."

"Dean, how's that even possible? Neither Jimmy or Cas portrayed anything of Gwain's personality. I mean, we've got "religious family man" hosting a socially-challenged  _angel_. Gwain is...well...Gwain is several things, but he's not  _that._ "

"I'm telling you, in the future, it was like he combined into an angelic hippie or something. He had the whole shebang—sex...drugs...It was the sixties all over again."

"The sixties," Sam repeated with the traumatized air of someone recalling a memory.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck musingly. "The sixties  _did_ have their good points."

"Dean, we're talking about  _Gwain_. During the  _sixties._ He was  _unbearable_ in the sixties. _"_

"Well…"

"Do you  _remember_ our lives during the sixties?"

"Uh…"

"For goodness sakes, we were banned from Manhattan. That whole thing with the pig and that hippie chick...This isn't ringing any bells?"

"I'm not…"

"The Key Lime Pie?"

"Oh God."

"Exactly."


	5. Haven't You Seen Me Sleep-Walking?

It's been three weeks since Jessica died, since she burned on a ceiling, stomach sliced open, and Dean doesn't know what to do. Sam laughs and jokes and pulls bitch-faces at all the right moments, but Dean sees when the smile slides off his face and his exhaustion and sorrow reflects in the window.

.

Arthur learns about Freya six years after her death. Looking back, he's ashamed it took him that long to finally notice the flinches when the rest of the knights talked about marriage and lovers or the underlying pain each time Arthur cradles Gwen's face and kisses her with a passion that will never fade.

It took nearly three weeks, but eventually Merlin told him about a girl with dark hair, darker eyes, and a shy smile who died before he could take her to a lake far away from sorcerers and fear and destiny.

"The hardest part was not being able to talk about her," whispers Merlin and that cuts Arthur deeper than anything else because he has always known he could confide in Merlin, but Merlin could never confide in him.

.

Sam slumps on the hood of the Impala, beer cradled loosely in his hands. The car lowers further under their collective weight as Dean sits beside him.

For a moment, it's just them, the midnight sky, and chirping insects in the still air.

"Tell me about Jessica," says Dean.

So Sam does.


	6. But in the Desert, the Two are Twain

"Do you ever feel like we're living as two different people?"

Dean glanced over at the other bed. Sam had his gaze hard at work at trying to bore a hole into the wall, complete with furrowed brow and pensive expression.

"I mean," Sam continued, "I remember when I was Merlin. What I was like, what I wanted to accomplish, stuff that irritated me, habits I was trying to break, things I enjoyed—"

"—that stupid neckerchief you wore…" Dean muttered.

Sam went on as if he hadn't heard. "I feel like I'm two different people. Compared to who I was as Merlin, my personality is almost completely different."

Dean pondered that for a moment. "Well," he finally offered, "You're still just as much of a girl."

Sam blinked at him irately.

"Yes," Dean relented, becoming serious, "Last time it was magic and Morgana and Mordred and bringing about Albion. This time it's demons and angels and Lucifer and the Apocalypse. Fate…"

"Fate," agreed Sam.

"I  _hate_ fate."

There was a few minutes of silence as they each pondered the odd twinings of fate.

"How do I stay myself?" Sam abruptly burst out.

"You don't."

Sam shot a look over at Dean, the restrained anguish on his face visible.

"Just like you keep me on the straight and narrow _,_ I'm gonna help you stay  _you_." Dean gave a light shrug. "That's my job, Samantha. Big brother's prerogative. Now, I'm gonna go out for some food. Want anything?"

"Nah," said Sam returning his thoughtful gaze to the wall opposite him. "I'm good."

Dean paused in the doorway, then turned back, "I will say this, Sammy. Fate did get one thing right."

"What's that?"

"It finally made us brothers."

 


	7. Another Life to Lose

"Arthur, we need to retreat! There are too many!"

Arthur deftly swung around and cut down his attacker with a quick, brutal stroke. Around them the knights desperately fought off the raiders charging from the trees.

The bright feeling of danger and (better yet) being  _alive_ thrumming through him, Arthur whirled to block another attack. "Nonsense, Merlin! You should get out more. Our training exercises are harder than this."

Behind him, Arthur could hear Merlin muttering and felt a smile creep onto his face as he envisioned the irritated expression he knew would be on Merlin's face—the expression that said, "You're a supercilious prat and at least half of your breakfast is going to be missing, compliments of your truly who is going to note how your clothes are getting a 'bit tight about the middle,' but I'm gonna stick with you through this whole battle anyways."

For a moment, Arthur was so caught up in his thoughts, he almost missed the downward stroke that came out of nowhere. The man he twisted to face, raider or not, knew how to fight and for several minutes the outside world slowed into a throbbing blur as the their rapid blows crystalized into clear definition. Arms shaking, Arthur locked blades and violently pivoted, causing a jarring pain to scream down his arm as he slammed his boot into the side of the raider's knee. He more felt than heard the deep crunching as the joints shattered. The warrior staggered into the ground, one hand desperately clutching at his knee, gibbering incoherent words. Pausing to catch his breath, Arthur shift his grasp on his sword.

And the man smirked.

 _Idiot!_ His mind screamed at him.  _Idiot! Your surroundings! Why weren't you looking? Behind you - behind - BEHIND BEHI—_

Even as he turned, raising a sword to block the axe of the warrior who had snuck behind him, Arthur knew it was too late. He'd let his guard down, focused too much on one thing, and -  _here it comes -_ out of everything, it was the man's teeth Arthur saw the clearest. They were so white, polished looking, almost gleaming at him as if to say, "See, Arthur? See how clean we are, smiling at you? Take a gander at these while our owner chops your head off."

Which is why he was so surprised when those perfect, straight teeth shattered out in a crimson wave. The raider's head snapped back with a distinct  _crack_ as something unseen but still so very  _solid_ picked him up and crushed him into a nearby tree with utter mercilessness.

Arthur staggered, almost falling. Around him, smoke formed a blanket of blurry fog, cloaking the screams of horses and men intermingled. The man, half-wrapped around the tree, slid to the ground. Everything was turning, disoriented, disjointed.

And there was Merlin. Merlin, who had one arm stretched out towards Arthur's attacker. Merlin who had a look of such  _fury,_ he was barely recognizable. Merlin, whose eyes still swirled a damning gold.

 _No,_ thought Arthur,  _no no no nonononono. He_ can't -  _He's_ not -

 _And why not?_ snidely shot back a corner of his mind,  _you saw him. You might try to convince yourself that you made it up, but we both know that's not true, now don't we? Good 'ole idiot_ Mer _lin's got magic. Men don't contort into broken pieces and wrap themselves into trees all by themselves._

_Not magic. Not evil he's not evil I won't believe I refuse he's not evil._

His eyes slid over to what left of his would-be sneak attacker. The man's limbs were grossly disjointed, white pieces of (teeth) bone poking out of saggy skin. He looked like a wooden doll whose owner had decided to jump up and down on it, then left it lying on at the base of tree. And Merlin's look of fury… He had never seen that look on anyway's face before, but even so, he knew what it was.

 _Oh yes,_ his mind replied,  _You know that look. Betcha Merlin's more than your average, arrogant wizard. That's the look of a man who could end the world if he wanted. The look of a man who_ knows  _he can do it. Give him the right reason and he'll saunter right down and end this world the moment it pleases him._

A movement in his peripheral vision startled Arthur out of his haze. Merlin's arm was now outstretched towards him, that look of cold, distant rage still etched into his expression. There was nothing of Arthur's friend left on his face.

"Merlin,  _please,"_ Arthur started to say, when a pulsing force shot past him, ruffling his hair as it passed, and slammed something into the ground.

Shocked, Arthur turned around and saw the first raider lying, the sword he had apparently been raising to strike Arthur from behind now only warped metal, eyes staring upward, surprised and empty.

_(Still think he couldn't destroy everything?)_

Arthur turned back to Merlin. That empty, rage-filled look was gone now, leaving Merlin with a nervous, almost embarrassed expression, like he had been caught filching food Arthur's dinner plate and was trying to figure out which joke would make Arthur roll his eyes and go back to his work.

And that expression, more than anything else, was what made Arthur lose it.

 _"You didn't tell me,"_ Arthur thought, hands quivering fists by his side,  _"You've got magic. You could end the world for all I know. Years I've trusted you. Years! And you didn't tell me? After everything, you couldn't tell me? I trusted - you didn't - you were my—"_

 _"Brother,"_ the corner of his mind finished for him.

Merlin's expression twisted painfully  _(can he hear what I'm thinking?)_ and Arthur could see his own name form on Merlin's lips as Merlin took a step forward.

Before Arthur could even fully process what his brain had picked up, he was running towards Merlin and screaming both mentally and out loud, " _Merlin! Look out!"_

For a brief moment, Merlin's expression just became confused. His head tilted slightly, not understanding what Arthur meant. Then just shocked pain as the sword ripped out of his chest with an ugly  _tearing_  sound.

Everything was moving, not enough time to act, to  _get there._ There was an awful slicking noise as the sword withdrew, and Merlin dropped to his knees, arms outstretched, then he was falling, falling backwards. And Arthur reached him, only now realizing that he'd been yelling "No no no no no no" the whole time.

"Merlin! Merlin, look at me," Arthur grabbed the sides of Merlin's head, "Merlin, hey, c'mon. I'm gonna take care of you. It's not even that bad, all right?"

Merlin's eyes were unfocused slits now, but Arthur heard the beginning of a slurred "R'thur" before the words caught in something thick, and clogging.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. We're gonna get you back to Gaius. You'll be as good as new. I've got you." Pulling Merlin closer, Arthur reached around to the feel the hot blood trickling down Merlin's back, mocking his words.

"I'm gonna take care of you," he whispered, "That's my job, right?" Merlin's head lolled on his shoulder and Arthur can't, can't deal, can't accept, can't allow, he _can't—_

_._

The healers he encountered as a young prince and a warrior, Gaius included, had told him that at times like these, things become vague and disconnected. The guilt of survival, the overwhelming knowledge of failure, the emptiness—"It causes you to shut out the world," they said.

It's biggest amount of bullshit Arthur has ever heard.

This hurts.

Staring at Merlin's pallid, dead face  _hurts_.

Because it's real.

There's nothing "disconnected" about this. It's the most real thing Arthur has ever seen and he wants to scream, destroy, kill  _something_ , because this is  _real real real real._  Instead, he just sits very very still and stares, and (after a long time) talks.

"When you first came to serve me, I hated you, you know that? I hated your cheekiness and how you acted like we were equals."

(Uther used to tell stories when Arthur was young. Most of them Arthur ignored. His father had something of a penchant to lecture over-long about the horrors of magic. But he still remembers a few.)

It's been three days now. Dull lines of decay are beginning to surface on Merlin's skin.

"At first I was insulted that you would try to raise yourself to the stature of a prince. But then I realized that wasn't it. You just treated everyone the same. Like they were your friend, worthy of attention and help."

(Even now, Arthur remembers his father's stern voice. " _Some people do not accept the way of life. They reach for higher things, things beyond the life allotted to them. Commoners who would become kings. Servants who would overthrow their masters. Magicians who would conquer all that is good.")_

His body has started to stiffen. Joints settling into rigid lines which can no longer be bent.

"You're my friend, Merlin. That's one for the songs, huh? I don't know when it happened, but one day I woke up realizing that if you weren't there to be irritatingly cheery in the mornings, or to steal food and suggest I'm getting fat, or to follow and advise me wherever I went, then the best part of my life would be gone."

_("In order to achieve their evil desires, they would do anything. Forsaking all wisdom and sense of duty, they made a pact with a being of power.")_

He looks like he could be sleeping, but for the dark veins hardening under his skin in stark contrast to the pale color of everything else.

"You follow me into war and death everyday. And the day I realized that, I promised myself that I would protect you."

_("They found a Priestess of the Old Religion.")_

All the healers told Arthur it would be hazy and empty.

"It's like I had one job."

_("They offer their very soul.")_

"And I screwed it up."

But it's so very  _real._

_._

Gaius would kill him for doing this. Arthur knows that, but as he steps into the roughened ruins he also knows that it doesn't matter because Merlin is gone, and as long as Merlin is gone, nothing—not the cost, not even the magic  _(Merlin's magic,_  whispers his mind)— _nothing_  matters without him.

The woman who appears wears the simple, elegant gown of a noblewoman and the sharp smile of a coiled serpent.

"Interesting to see what makes a righteous man willing to sell his soul," she murmurs as she runs her fingers along his arm, causing tense prickling to skitter down his back, "Gives a girl such tingles all over to see Arthur Pendragon at her feet."

"Bring Merlin back and my soul is yours."

She quirks a slick smile once more. "Your soul? Tempting, but I'm afraid the bargain for your soul must be saved for a future date. I had something else in mind."

"Please," says Arthur, desperation entering his voice, "What do I have to do?"

"What I want..." she answers, tone slow and cloying, "...is permission to claim your descendants. To mark them for greatness and purpose."

"What purpose? What do you mean 'mark them'?"

Her movements are slick and smooth. "It doesn't matter. That's my offer. Give me permission to claim your line and I will bring Merlin back."

Arthur swallows, shifting his weight. "And what of Gaius and the others? They saw him die."

Her laughter is shockingly light. For a moment, Arthur is almost tempted to believe she's human. Almost.

"They won't remember. Neither will Merlin. Everyone will forget. Even you."

He stalls for a long moment, sensing danger even if he doesn't understand where. But really, Arthur knows the answer, already  _knew_ the answer even before the question was ever posed. Yes, he'll give anything—his soul, his memory, or the safety of his future descendants—because Merlin is his (brother) friend.

"Yes," he answers. Then her eyes shift (yellow) gold and Arthur can feel the curve of her smile as she kisses him, tasting of ash and sulfur, and he knows the trap has closed, some plan has been set in motion, something has started that he won't be able to stop, but it doesn't matter because Merlin, Merlin is what matters.


End file.
